A Cowboy's Christmas Proposal

CHAPTER ONE

HEARING WHAT SOUNDED like a hammer banging against metal, Molly O’Malley tossed the covers aside and sat bolt upright. Her sister had beaten her to the shower. Again. Now she’d be late getting downstairs—the last thing she wanted today of all days. After endless planning, preparation and backbreaking labor, Sweetheart Ranch was finally opening for business.

Molly pushed herself out of bed, excitement and nervousness replacing the fog of sleep. Grabbing her flannel robe hanging from the bedpost, she padded to the closet, every third floorboard creaking in angry protest. A single tug on the antique glass knob and the closet door glided open. Thank goodness. It just as often stuck and refused to budge.

Like the faulty water pressure in the pipes and the creaking floorboards, no amount of tinkering had remedied the finicky closet door. Molly’s grandmother, Emily, claimed the many quirks only added to the old house’s charm.

Molly did agree the house possessed a certain appeal. People raved over the quaint and rustic decor inspired by local history, nearby cattle ranches and the herd of wild mustangs that had once roamed the valley. At least, those were the comments Molly had received from guests who’d viewed their website and booked a wedding, or a honeymoon stay in one of the six cabins.

Five weddings were scheduled these last four days of November and a dozen so far in December. Understandably, the holidays were a popular time to get married. What better than to combine two joyous occasions?

Only 50 percent of the ranch’s cabins, however, had been booked. As head of guest relations, Molly worried. Grandma Em, their resident wedding coordinator, had assured her the situation was temporary. Lately, she’d issued the statement with a twinkle in her eye.

That, too, worried Molly. Grandma Em had poured almost her entire savings into the ranch, converting her country home on ten acres into what would hopefully be the most popular, and most unique, wedding venue and bed-and-breakfast in Arizona. She should be fretting and pacing and biting her nails to the quick. Or, like Molly, racing around in a constant state of agitation. She certainly shouldn’t be dismissing valid concerns with a casual shrug.

Molly contemplated the three O’Malley women as she chose an outfit. They were a study in contrast, each of them dealing with stress differently. While Molly planned for every conceivable catastrophe, her older sister, Bridget, stayed up late testing recipes and developing menus. Grandma Em, perhaps the smartest of them, took things in stride.

Both sisters had worked in the hospitality industry since graduating college—Bridget as a pastry chef and Molly in hotel administration. When their grandmother had called last summer and invited them to share in her long-held dream of owning and operating a Western-themed wedding ranch, they’d jumped at the chance—for entirely different reasons.

Hurrying down the hall, Molly stopped at the bathroom door and knocked loudly.

You almost done?

Give me two minutes, Bridget hollered above another pipe-banging symphony.

Molly groaned in frustration, more annoyed with herself for oversleeping than at her sister for dawdling. She’d stayed up late last night, too, envisioning every detail of their grand opening and mentally reviewing her lengthy to-do list.

While she waited, her glance traveled the hall to Grandma Em’s bedroom. She’d apparently risen some time ago, for the door sat ajar and not a single peep came from inside the room.

Likely, she was downstairs, making coffee and toasting homemade bagels for breakfast. Molly was straining her ears for any hint of activity when Bridget flung open the bathroom door and emerged from behind a cloud of steam.

Thanks for hogging the entire hot water supply.

Get up earlier next time.

Molly huffed as she shouldered past her sister. Being adults didn’t stop them from squabbling like they had when they were young.

Whatever. Bridget darted to her room, tucking in the tail of the bath towel she wore on her head like a turban. Several red tendrils had escaped and lay plastered against her neck, forming a row of inverted question marks. Molly’s own wavy hair would look the same when she stepped from the shower.

It was one of many similarities between them. They shared freckled cheeks, a cleft in their chins, a love of sweets and an unwavering determination to marry a man just like their late father.

They also had their differences. Big ones. While Bridget was an open book, messy to a fault, and tended to easily trust people, Molly kept her thoughts and feelings to herself, preferred her surroundings and every aspect of her life to be neat and tidy, and exercised caution in all situations.

She had good reason. Her twice-wounded heart needed protecting. Grandma Em’s invitation, issued on the heels of Molly’s latest breakup, had provided the perfect opportunity. She’d packed her car and bid Southern California goodbye without a single regret.

Molly showered in record time before the hot water really did run out—another quirk of the old house—then returned to her room. After throwing on her clothes, she ran a brush through her wet hair. She’d style it and apply makeup later, before the open house started at noon. There was simply too much to accomplish before then.

Of course Bridget had beaten her downstairs. Molly made straight for the kitchen, expecting to be assaulted by the aroma of freshly brewed coffee and toasting bagels. Instead, Bridget stood at the counter, dropping clumps of thick, chocolatey batter onto a cookie sheet. The coffeepot sat untouched.

Where’s Grandma? Molly asked, mildly irritated. She desperately needed to fuel up on caffeine.

I haven’t seen her yet.

How odd. Maybe she was on an emergency run to the market for some last-minute item. Though, on second thought, the town’s one small grocery store didn’t open until nine.

Did you call her? Molly asked.

Been too busy.

Fishing her cell phone from her jeans pocket, she dialed Grandma Em. The call went straight to voice mail.

She must have forgotten to charge her phone.

Wouldn’t be the first time. Bridget slid the cookie sheet into the oven.

Ignoring the twinge of anxiety winding through her, Molly set down her phone and filled the coffeepot with water. They did have a brand-new individual cup brewing system in the dining room, but that was reserved for guests.

Do you think we were wrong to plan our grand opening in the middle of the holiday season? she asked. It’s still technically Thanksgiving weekend. People are going to be out shopping or putting up Christmas decorations.

We can’t afford to wait.

True. Expenses were mounting while revenues wouldn’t pick up until after they officially opened. Molly knew that for a fact as she handled the ranch books.

It was then she spotted the small piece of notepaper taped to the refrigerator. Grandma Em’s familiar handwriting jumped out at her.

What’s this? With her free hand, Molly tore off the note and started reading. The next instant, her fingers went slack, and she nearly dropped the pot. I don’t believe it!

What’s wrong? Bridget glanced up from sprinkling flour onto a rolling mat.

Grandma’s gone. The words fell from Molly’s mouth in a shocked whisper.

Where? The café?

Try the Grand Canyon and then Nevada. In Homer’s RV. Molly gaped at her sister, alarm battling with disbelief. They’ve eloped. They’re getting married in Reno and then taking a monthlong road trip.

No way! Bridget wiped her hands on a towel and charged across the kitchen. She snatched the note from Molly and quickly scanned the paper.

She must be kidding, Molly said. Grandma wouldn’t leave on the day of our open house for anything. Right?

I don’t know. She might.

What are you talking about?

Bridget thrust the note back at her. She made a comment the other day about really liking Homer.

That was news to Molly. Yes, Grandma and Homer were friends and went out to lunch sometimes. But eloping? Surely Molly would have noticed her grandmother falling in love. She wasn’t entirely self-absorbed.

You should have told me.

Honestly, Bridget said, I didn’t think a lot about it other than if Grandma had a boyfriend, then good for her. At least one of us was dating.

Apparently, he’s a lot more than a boyfriend. They’re getting married! Without Molly and her sister and their family in attendance. She tried to ignore the sharp stab of hurt. What about the grand opening? Grandma’s our hostess. And who’s going to marry people?

Grandma Em had originally suggested they hire Homer to wed those couples without their own officiant. It had seemed like a sensible solution at the time. The O’Malleys were in need, and Homer was available since retiring from his position as minister at Valley Community Church.

Grandma says in her note replacements for her and Homer are on the way. That everything’s been handled.

What kind of replacements? Molly fought for control. She didn’t fare well with blows from left field.

Guess we’ll find out. Bridget returned to the counter. Look, I need to start the bread or it won’t rise in time.

Bread? Really? We’re in crisis.

Molly dug her fingers into her forehead where an ache had started to throb. Grandma leaving hours before their grand opening and marrying a man no one had had any idea she was even serious about was nothing short of insane.

Setting down the coffeepot, she grabbed her phone and dialed her grandmother’s number again, only to disconnect when the recorded greeting kicked in.

They must be out of range. Bridget dumped an oblong of bread dough onto the mat and began kneading. You should have left a message.

And said what? The two of you had better get yourselves back home right now? We have a business to run. Guests to accommodate. Couples to unite in wedded bliss.

Photographers. Live video streaming. Floral arrangements. Music. Decorations. Molly realized with some dismay she wasn’t as familiar with her grandmother’s job at Sweetheart Ranch as she should be. In addition to the books, Molly oversaw cabin reservations, customer service, housekeeping, marketing and the various amenities they offered. That left her too busy to participate much in the wedding planning.

Give her a chance to explain, Bridget advised. Love makes people do crazy things.

I think we should cancel the open house.

Absolutely not! Our first guests arrive this afternoon, and our first wedding is at seven tonight.

Assuming we have a minister.

Relax. Take a deep breath. Bridget followed her own advice. Panicking will only make matters worse.

How could her sister not panic? Their world was collapsing around them. Worst of all, Molly was about to fail at the fourth job she’d held in seven years. And this time she wasn’t to blame.

I’m serious. We should cancel.

Grandma has too much money invested. Bridget rhythmically worked the dough. And are you willing to tell the happy couple their wedding’s off? They’re expecting to honeymoon tonight as man and wife.

But what if—

Have some faith. Grandma won’t let us down. If we haven’t heard from her by midafternoon, we’ll hire Reverend Crosby.

He charges a fortune.

Better than turning the couple away on our first day of business.

Molly made a decision. I’m calling Mom.

What’s she going to do?

Nothing, as it turned out. She didn’t know about Grandma Em’s elopement, either, and had no advice for Molly other than to move forward as best as she and Bridget could.

I’d love to help you, she said. But Doug has a touch of the flu and can’t fend for himself.

Thanks anyway, Mom. I’ll talk to you later.

Left with little choice, Molly buried herself in work, her usual coping mechanism. While Bridget continued baking delicacies for the open house and a cake for that night’s reception, Molly arranged champagne flutes, crystal punch glasses, china plates and silver flatware in the parlor.

On impulse, she set out cinnamon-scented candles flanking the festive fall cornucopia in the center of the table, certain the delicious aroma would stir feelings of Christmas for their guests the same as it did for her. It was never too soon to start celebrating.

Fortunately for Molly and Bridget, the ranch’s launch wedding was on the smaller side—only twenty-seven people including the bride and groom. The most their chapel could accommodate was forty-five. The veranda held thirty for those who preferred an outdoor ceremony. For larger weddings, folding chairs could be set up on the lawn.

Over the next hour, whenever the ranch phone rang, Molly dove for the polished mahogany counter in the foyer that served as her workstation and registration desk. She answered the callers’ questions about the open house, praying that she and her sister could indeed pull off the event without their grandmother.

Expecting a delivery from the florist, Molly didn’t think twice when the front door opened. Hearing the tat-tat-tat of running feet on the foyer’s wooden floor and a child’s squeal, she paused. This was no floral delivery.

A little girl no older than three burst into the parlor at the exact moment Molly entered from the kitchen. She was quickly followed by a boy of possibly five. Hair disheveled, cheeks flushed and clothing askew, the pair skidded to a halt and stared at her.

Oh. Molly stared back. Who are you?

The next instant, the boy reached out with both arms and shoved the girl from behind. She tumbled face-first to the floor, landing half on and half off the braided rug. Instantly, a high-pitched wail filled the room. The boy, her brother given their resemblance, simply stood there, his expression a combination of victory, contrition and dread.

Molly started forward. She didn’t have a lot of experience with kids, but she could tell the girl wasn’t hurt. Not really. A bruised knee, perhaps. Molly and her sister had regularly engaged in these types of scuffles during their childhood.

Are you okay?

She was halfway to the girl when the arched doorway separating the parlor from the foyer and the chapel was filled by a pair of broad shoulders, a tall lanky form and a dark brown Stetson.

Molly came to a halt. She’d seen plenty of attractive cowboys since moving to Mustang Valley, but this one in his pressed jeans and Western-cut suede coat rated right up there. The fact that he balanced a third child in his left arm, this one a toddler, diminished none of his good looks.

Assuming they’d arrived early, Molly produced a smile and said, I’m sorry. The open house doesn’t start until noon.

Actually... He bent and assisted the little girl to her feet, restraining her when she would have shoved her brother in retaliation. I’m Owen Caufield. And you must be Molly O’Malley, right?

His name didn’t ring any bells. Am I expecting you?

You are. An appealing grin tugged at the corners of his mouth.

She grew suddenly tense. Something told her that she was in for a surprise and not the happy kind.

I’m your substitute minister. Homer Foxworthy’s my great-uncle. Owen set the toddler down to join her siblings. I’m staying here for the next month, through Christmas, while he and your grandmother are on their trip. Along with my kids.

She stared at him, every particle of her being resisting. Please, someone tell her this wasn’t happening.

* * *

NO OFFENSE, BUT you don’t look like a minister.

Owen didn’t blame Molly for doubting him. He wasn’t really a minister. And his three intent-on-misbehaving offspring were hardly aiding his image.

I got ordained online, he explained. A buddy asked me to officiate his wedding a few months ago. We had this bet and, well...

Is that even a real thing? Getting ordained online?

He corralled his children closer. They’d attempted to wander off in three different directions, and the room had far too many breakables for his comfort level. I guarantee you, I can legally marry people. In Arizona, at least.

Do you have any credentials?

I didn’t bring my certificate. I figured Uncle Homer had vouched for me.

What’s his cell phone number?

Owen chuckled. You plan on calling him to verify my story?

Yes. She squared her shoulders. I do.

That’s funny.

Oh? She drew out the word.

You said ‘I do.’ Like in a wedding vow. And I’m an online minister.

Huh.

All right, not funny. Ms. O’Malley apparently lacked a sense of humor.

Then again, Owen was a complete stranger, and he’d obviously caught her at a bad moment, when she was overwhelmed and not expecting him. Anyone’s sense of humor would desert them.

She lifted one side of the apron she wore and produced a phone from her jeans pocket. Swiping the screen, she raised her brows expectantly. What’s your uncle’s number?

Owen obliged her, and she quickly entered it. He might have spent more time losing himself in the depths of her incredible green eyes, but his son chose that moment to renew the squabble with his sister.

Cody, that’s enough.

Owen blocked his son’s hand right before it connected with his oldest daughter, Marisa. Cody was strictly forbidden to tease or torment his little sisters. Unfortunately, that seldom deterred him, and Marisa was his target more often than Willa, the youngest.

In response, Marisa dropped to the floor and resumed crying. I wanna go home.

Willa collapsed beside her sister, whining in solidarity, while Cody grabbed Owen’s arm and, lifting his feet, dangled in his best monkey impersonation.

Owen attempted to quiet the girls and sent Molly an apologetic smile. This wasn’t the auspicious beginning he’d envisioned.

The sad truth was Owen didn’t know his children very well or they him. He’d been away more than he’d been home in recent years and was sorely lacking when it came to parenting skills.

One of the reasons he’d agreed to take a month off and cover for his great-uncle was the perks that came with the job. He’d been promised a cabin and plenty of free time to connect with his estranged children.

Never again would he pick them up for a scheduled visit only to have Willa not recognize him. The blow Owen suffered had been the motivator behind him turning a new leaf, and he’d vowed from that day forward nothing and no one would come before his children.

Homer’s not answering, either. Molly disconnected and repocketed her phone.

I’m sure they’ll call when they reach Flagstaff. Service is pretty iffy between here and there.

Did your uncle coerce my grandmother?

He thought at first she might be joking then realized she wasn’t. I doubt it. She seemed pretty eager when they came by my house on Thursday to ask if I’d cover for Uncle Homer.

Molly’s gaze narrowed. Just how well do you know my grandmother?

We’ve met twice. I’m all the family Uncle Homer has in Arizona. Which is why, I think, they chose to elope and take a long RV trip. Uncle Homer’s son couldn’t arrange time off work on such short notice to come to a wedding, and his daughter’s scared to death of flying. He wanted your grandmother to meet his children and brothers and grandchildren, and they’re spread out over six different states. Kind of romantic, if you think about it. Eloping and touring the country.

Except my mom and aunt haven’t met Homer, and none of us were invited to the wedding.

Owen heard the hurt in her voice she tried to mask and felt a need to ease it. The way Uncle Homer put it, they were trying to be fair. His family couldn’t come here and you’re not able to leave. Eloping was a compromise.

Molly shook her head. Grandma wouldn’t up and leave. Sweetheart Ranch is too important to her.

I’m sure she put you and your sister in charge because she’s confident in your abilities to manage the ranch without her.

We need her. Today’s our grand opening. The mayor’s coming. And a reporter from Channel 5. Molly glanced over her shoulder at a clock on the fireplace mantel. They’ll be here in three hours.

Three and a half, to be exact. But Owen didn’t correct her as his kids were again demanding his attention.

Daddy, I’m hungry.

Cody kicked me.

Where Mama? Want Mama. Willa stuck her pudgy thumb in her mouth and sucked lustily.

Owen bent and scooped up his youngest. He simultaneously took hold of Cody’s shirt collar before the boy made a run for it. With her siblings restrained, Marisa was likely to stick close.

I know you’re busy, Owen said. If you can show us to our cabin, we’ll get out of your hair.

Your cabin, Molly repeated.

Emily mentioned she’d reserved one for us.

Right. Molly’s shoulders slumped ever so slightly, another sign of how hurt she was by the elopement. I should have guessed. She’s been planning this for weeks. That’s why she insisted our vacancies didn’t matter.

Owen suffered a stab of guilt. Perhaps he shouldn’t have encouraged Uncle Homer. We can stay at the inn in town if it’s a problem.

It isn’t, Molly said.

You sure?

Positive. The cabin’s empty anyway.

Daddy, Marisa pleaded.

I wanna eat. Cody twisted sideways.

Convinced his luck was about to run out, Owen said, Let me get the kids settled and give them a snack. Then we’ll be back, and you can put me to work. He flashed his best sales rep smile in an attempt to win her over.

You’ll help?

I’m capable of more than marrying people.

We do need a minister, she mused. And someone to move furniture.

I’m good at heavy lifting.

She returned his smile, a genuine one this time, and Owen found himself quite captivated. Strawberry blondes were his weakness, and this one came with the added bonus of freckles.

He admired Molly for more than her looks, though. She was obviously overwhelmed from being thrust into a difficult and unexpected situation. Yet, that hadn’t prevented her from doing her job.

A nose-to-the-grindstone attitude and the ability to navigate chaos were qualities Owen appreciated, and he cultivated them in himself. He attributed his success in two careers—professional cowboy and marketing—to those same qualities. He had every intention of applying them to repairing his strained relationship with his children.

Before any of